


strings

by aslanjades



Category: Banana Fish (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Banana Fish Reverse Big Bang, Bassist Eiji, Drummer Shorter, Guitarist Ash, Inspired by Artwork by Lasenby_Heathcote, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-24 05:13:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19716919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aslanjades/pseuds/aslanjades
Summary: Eiji never particularly saw himself in a band.Then again, life never exactly goes as planned.(Inspired by artwork by Lasenby_Heathcote)





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Let's Rock](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19720573) by [Lasenby_Heathcote](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lasenby_Heathcote/pseuds/Lasenby_Heathcote). 



THIS WASN’T YUE’S SCENE.

Perhaps that was why Eiji was so confused when they pulled up to a pub with a flashing neon sign shaped into a beer glass on the front window. Yue drank—heavily so—but not here. Not in the same part of town that he openly denounced. In fact, as he drove through the narrow, potholed streets, he made enough snide comments about his surroundings to make Eiji concerned that his friend was going there against his will and he was meant to be backup. 

But no one attacked them or demanded they handed over their money through their open windows when the car came to a halt. Yue still rolled his up with a noticeable sense of urgency, but he didn’t exactly seem to be on his guard—not any more than usual, anyway. That paired with the fact that Yue only checked to see if his car doors were locked twice (hell, Eiji would have too if he had a Range Rover) told Eiji enough; he shouldn’t be concerned, he should be suspicious.

When Yue circled around the car, they both stood by the side of it and stared into the bar and lounge. It seemed to be quite large from the outside, and through the window that stretched across the entire width of the outer brick wall, Eiji could see neon lights and silhouettes of bodies. This wasn’t Yue’s scene, and it certainly wasn’t his either. 

“Come on,” Yue said, turning away from the window and towards Eiji. “The entrance is around back.”

Eiji followed behind him, stepping exactly where he stepped to avoid the broken glass and miscellaneous litter on the pavement. 

Normally, Yue would refuse to use an entrance located in a dark alleyway in the area that made even Eiji, decently built from years of high school athletics and able to defend himself to an extent if necessary, uneasy. He would find another way in—crawl in through an open window if he had to. But the pep in his step, the chin raised as it usually was rather than a bit higher to contribute to the strong front he would have attempted to put on had he felt threatened. . . he was too smug. 

“Why are we here?” Eiji asked, hot on his friend’s heels. Yue didn’t turn around; instead, he pulled his dark, flowing ponytail over his shoulder and hummed. Even without seeing his face, Eiji could _hear_ him smirking. 

“You’ll see.”

So he _was_ hiding something.

“Yue—“

“Trust me,” Yue insisted, waving a hand to dismiss Eiji’s wariness. “Seriously, when have I ever led you wrong?”

Presumably becoming aware of himself and his habits, as he rounded the back corner of the bar, Yue uttered, “Don’t answer that.”

Eiji didn’t have to think hard, anyway. Ever since they were assigned to be roommates by their university’s housing department, Yue had proven himself to be a mess of bad advice and drunken decisions that often yielded consequences that Eiji had to save him from. If he intended to stump Eiji, Yue would have been better off asking when he had ever led him in the _right_ direction.

Eiji shook his head to himself as he followed him down the dimly lit alley. He took brief glances at the various posters and flyers tacked to the walls to somewhat cover up both aged and decently fresh multicolored graffiti. In a way, the otherwise dull brick walls being completely covered in color was artistic. It looked somewhat like a collage, though vandalism would have been a more accurate term. 

Following a flash of his real ID—unlike Yue’s fake one that hardly got him caught—to the bouncer and an intense stare that Eiji could attribute to the wide eyes that gave him a much more youthful appearance than he would have liked, he trailed Yue down a long corridor and into a lively bar. The moment Yue stepped inside, rather than taking a seat at one of the stools, he crossed his arms and stared ahead with narrowed eyes. Eiji, noticing the unusual behavior, looked where he looked: towards a small stage littered with various cords where a guitar, amplifier, and drum kit were set up.

“You brought me to a concert?”

“I did.” Yue’s words were filled with pride, as if he was already satisfied just by getting Eiji into the place. That in itself was curious enough; if Yue had asked him if he wanted to go to a concert, he wouldn’t have said no. His dragging him there without giving him a hint along the way just made it seem as though he had ulterior motives. “And while I’m sitting at the bar, you’re going to stand in that pit and have a good time.” 

“I’m going to what—” Before he could even finish speaking, Yue was patting his shoulder and walking away from him, mumbling a halfhearted “have fun” as he left. Eiji watched him go, then turned forward and, with hesitant steps, walked towards the gathering crowd. Along with the others lingering at the back, Eiji kept a small distance between him and everyone else; he didn’t feel as if he was one with them just yet. To him, it felt more like he was on the outside peering in, at least for the time being.

He didn’t even know what band was playing. He stepped to the side to find a window between bodies through which he could see, squinting out of habit to read the words on the kick drum despite having his contacts in. The words _BANANA FISH_ were spray painted onto the plastic drum head, a name unconventional enough to make Eiji confused and fascinated at the same time. And as if that wasn’t enough . . . 

Eiji had met people who were capable of captivating a room without moments. Yue was one of them; he had his way of commanding attention and holding it for as long as he so desired, almost as if he possessed some magnetic force that just drew eyes towards him at all times. When the drummer walked onstage with purple hair and a greatly contrasting yellow muscle top, the existing confusion dissipated to leave only intrigue, but when he sat, spun his drumsticks between his fingers, and effortlessly played a crashing, fast-paced rhythm, Eiji was entranced.

The heads previously tilted down and lit by phones raised, the bodies facing each other turned outward, and the chatter in the room quieted. In a single moment, a cluster of wandering bar goers became an expectant audience, and the show had begun. 

Eiji had never been to a concert—he found the environment too off-putting—but there was one line of an article he had read once that, for some reason, stuck with him: the first riff of any show is the most resounding, for it’s enough to send vibrations throughout an entire theater, arena, or stadium. Eiji intently watched as a blonde boy walked onstage during the breakdown of the drum solo and grabbed the guitar that was propped up, adjusting the strap so it hung comfortably when he let go. Converse clad foot tapping against the wood of the floor, he stood in wait as his cue to play came and, when it did, finally _strummed_.

The sound sent shockwaves through Eiji. 

Standing there with colored lights washing over him, he felt as electric as the guitar producing notes that blended with the drums to create a perfectly knit and unmistakably catchy tune. His blood pumped quicker and his heart began to beat in time—he couldn’t stop himself from moving like the others standing before the stage, from swaying from side to side and nodding his head along as though the music was flowing through him.

And the picturesque moment of the guitarist pausing, pushing his hair back, and continuing with the addition of imperfect yet engrossing vocals tied everything together, earning approving shouts from those watching. It made him smile as his lips formed the lyrics, then throw a wink back to his bandmate sitting behind the drum kit. Eiji could see the drummer grin and slightly shake his head in response without faltering in upholding the rhythm for a moment. 

The unity between them and that among the crowd was harmonious, an exact display of what music was and what it could do. The way the crowd jumped when the chorus came in with a repeating riff and intense vocals, how he couldn’t help but jump too . . . It was magic. He wished he had his camera with him to capture a memory of the feeling, for the sensation itself couldn’t possibly transfer onto film.

He wished the moment could have lasted forever, because then, surrounded by strangers in a room that smelled like sweat and liquor, he felt more like he was part of a whole than ever before.

* * *

Even when the music ceased and those who had spent half an hour jumping and yelling left, Eiji felt as though he couldn’t. It took fifteen minutes, a cup of water from the bar, and a stumble out of pure exhaustion for him to walk out of the bar with Yue—surprisingly sober—leading.

“You look like you had a good time,” Yue uttered as they walked back down the alley, the atmosphere even more eerie than before now that night had truly fallen. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you dance. God, are you awful at it.”

Eiji didn’t grumble at the insult or acknowledge at all—he was tired, but he was also strangely pumped up on adrenaline. He wanted to do it all again, but he also wanted nothing more than to sleep. Unsure of just how he felt, he sought out an answer to the question burning at the back of his mind instead. “Why did you bring me here?”

“Oh, Eiji . . . how kind of you to thank your good ole roommate for giving you the time of your life.” Eiji was tired, but not too tired to roll his eyes, an action that Yue caught when he turned around to hand Eiji a slip of folded paper. The latter hesitantly took it and unraveled it, discovering that it was a printed ticket for the concert. Planning to do something more appropriate with it when they returned to their apartment, Eiji slipped it into his pocket. “Do you want to know the real reason why?”

“Yes.”

A second after he answered, Yue paused in his tracks and pulled out his phone, presumably digging for something. Eiji took the opportunity to walk up to the wall and glance at a poster advertising the concert he had just experienced that had been hastily tacked up with a piece of masking tape. Beside it were posters for shows days and months beforehand—almost like the wall was some myriad of memories.

“Here,” Yue uttered, flashing his phone towards Eiji. He had a screenshot of a social media post from the band’s account pulled up, but turned his phone back towards him before Eiji could even skim over it. “They’re looking for a support bassist. Someone to fill in until they can find a permanent member.”

Eiji furrowed his brows. Despite getting a passable explanation, his understanding of the situation was still foggy. Not only was it far beyond his expectations for Yue to be actively looking at posts about something music related considering the fact that he let out an endless string of complaints every time Eiji dared to practice an instrument while he was home, but him bringing him all the way there without a solid intention was questionable. Unless . . . 

“No.”

Yue raised his eyebrows. “What are you saying no to? I didn’t say anything.”

“If you’re going to ask me to apply, the answer is no.” When Yue rolled his eyes, motives unveiled, Eiji let out a long breath in a desperate attempt to rid himself of the anxiety that had begun to spread throughout his body. “I don’t play bass.”

“Oh, we’re lying now?”

Maybe it was a lie for Eiji to say that he didn’t play bass; he did fiddle with it. Little by little, he had been familiarizing himself with the structure, the notes, the overall feeling of playing such a rhythmic instrument. But if playing was a language, he wouldn’t be fluent. Surely not fluent enough to put himself in an environment where he was expected to know the skill inside and out.

“I don’t play bass for people,” Eiji clarified. Clearly, that wasn’t the answer Yue was looking for either, seeing that he rolled his eyes at that, too.

“You play all the time when I’m home.”

“With headphones.”

Yue scoffed. “What does it matter?”

“How does it not?” Eiji countered. He couldn’t be relied on. He couldn’t be expected to go out onstage and, together with the drummer, form a perfectly cohesive rhythm section that carried each song they played. That was the essence of a bassist, regardless of whether they were only playing temporarily or not. “How does it not matter, Yue?”

Rather than responding, Yue turned his back and, as he walked, looked down at his phone. After a few taps, sound began to play from the speaker, then played increasingly louder as Yue turned up the volume. 

“Got your email. If you can, I’d appreciate if you could come by our rehearsal space for a quick test run tomorrow. I sent tabs and an address back to you; learn what you can of the bassline. I know it’s on short notice.”

Eiji stared at Yue’s back, the sound of his own heart pounding filling his ears. Yue had gotten him into terrible situations before, but this . . . 

This was special.

“—See you tomorrow, Eiji.”

He was going to die. 

He was absolutely going to die, and he would take Yue down with him.


	2. two

MUSIC IS A LOW PAYING JOB.

That could have been most evident in the way Ash and Shorter only played in small lounges that were close to home and offered half an hour max of stage time. The van that creaked and lurched as it drove down interstates and side streets was another telltale sign; if it was up to them, they wouldn’t have to drive both themselves and their equipment anyway. 

But the money that music paid, or the lack of it, was most shown in their rehearsal space: the garage connected to Ash’s childhood home that included an old, horrendously patterned couch shoved into corner, a mini fridge that still ran by the grace of God, and a dusty glass coffee table littered with wrappers and sheets of paper with song lyrics and hastily drawn tabs scribbled on them.

The walls were cracked—they’d gotten multiple noise complaints for the sound of drums and guitar chords escaping through them—and the mechanism to lift the garage door had broken long ago, but it was their safe haven. It was a place that was free to rehearse, and where everything having to do with their makeshift band began. 

It was busted, but it was perfect. 

Ash still remembered back when the space hadn’t yet been filled with amplifiers and guitars. It was still empty then—the old tan Toyota his brother drove always stayed parked next to the curb when he wasn’t working. All they had was a CD player and a game console hooked up to a used television that hung on the wall. Shorter would come over almost every day and hang out with music blaring and controllers never leaving their hands until Griff sent him home. That was their routine.

Until that fell apart.

In an accident where that beige Toyota that always sat outside the house was totalled, Griff died. A family friend moved in to care for Ash, who stopped inviting Shorter over. The garage that had been a second home for both of them was marked off with invisible tape. It went unventured for months.

After a year of broken communication, Shorter texted him the Spotify link to the Blink-182 album they would always listen to along with an ambitious request. Let’s make a band.

Ash accepted. 

And a year later, the garage was buzzing again. Shorter was talking about something (he always was, even if Ash wasn’t completely listening) while twirling a drumstick between his fingers, and Ash leaned his head against the armrest of that same battered sofa with his guitar in his lap, fiddling with the strings and twisting the tuning pegs as he saw fit.

Any moment now.

When he got an email from someone who claimed to be interested in being a support bassist for them, Ash was both intrigued and utterly filled with fear. He had no idea what to expect with no links to videos or anything of the sort given—nothing but a name, actually: Eiji Okumura.

The same Eiji Okumura who was going to be late if he didn’t show up within two minutes.

Almost on cue, Ash’s phone began to ring. He reached his arm up to grab it, but the call ended before he could pick it up, leaving a missed call notification from an unknown number. Before he could do anything about it, there was a light knock at the door.

Shorter stopped talking and met eyes with Ash. The former let out a sigh that communicated the phrase ‘here goes nothing’ without the usage of the words, while Ash looked down again.

Behind him, the door creaked as it was manually lifted, easily proving its age and wear. With a final lurch as it stopped, it went silent, and so did the atmosphere around them. There was never a moment where drums weren’t clanging, guitar strings weren’t being plucked, or conversation and laughter wasn’t drifting through the air, so the quiet was eerie. Strange.

The moment didn’t last long; Shorter’s voice soon began to echo due to his partial standpoint in the open garage.

Ash continued to look down at the guitar strings he had been tuning for five minutes straight despite being fully able to do it in half the time. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t want a bassist. They needed a bassist. Even if those attending their shows believed that their sound was perfectly stitched, Ash felt the something that was missing. Rather, he _didn’t_ feel the vibrations in his chest that should have come along with a supporting bassline.

He didn’t not want a bassist—God, he wanted to stop attempting to write basslines himself more than anything—but he was . . . protective over both the things that kept him and Griff connected and what he and Shorter had created together with just the two of them. One added member could cause a complete shift in atmosphere or ruin a perfectly synchronized pair.

After plucking each individual string and listening to the accurate notes, Ash looked over his shoulder.

He knew what complete and utter fear looked like. When he stood on a stage for the first time, his legs and hands trembled so much that he couldn’t even properly play the chords he had practiced so restlessly. And of course, his brother immortalized the horrendous occasion through a video that he refused to delete for the sake of ‘memories,’ which, looking back, was a cruel, cruel thing to do. 

The boy standing on the pavement outside of the garage wasn’t shaking or anything of the sort, but everything about him screamed that he wanted to run away. Though he listened to Shorter politely and offered a few words here and there, his focus was elsewhere. Maybe it was just the fact that Ash didn’t have his glasses on—he never did, anyway—but the boy’s noticeably wide eyes and reddened cheeks accumulated to create a somewhat lost look, like even though he knew that he was where he was supposed to be, something wasn’t quite right.

This would be interesting.

Ash stood, nylon guitar strap keeping the weighted instrument close to him, and turned around. Taking the opportunity provided by the break in the conversation between the boy—Eiji—and Shorter, Ash muttered a simple but effective, “Hey.”

Eiji took his eyes off of Shorter and looked at Ash, lips parted slightly. Standing, Ash could see how awkward he looked with the bass case in his hand. All his weight was shifted to the left side of his body, and he held it almost uncannily like a suitcase, with his arm slightly bent. 

So he was definitely a beginner..

After seeming to realize how long of a pause there had been, Eiji cleared his throat to offer an awkward response. “Hi.”

Ash smiled a bit. Smiled at how terribly this could go, at how ambitious it was to post a callout asking for a support bassist on social media in the first place. He would have been better off reaching out to local bands he’d met to see if they knew anyone, because this situation was already flashing millions of signs telling him to go back, though that, unfortunately, wasn’t an option.

“—Range Rover made a good first impression,” Ash picked up on Shorter saying as Eiji entered the garage. Shorter audibly wrestled with the door in an attempt to get it down, and when it finally budged, it slammed to the ground—a perfectly normal occurrence for him and Ash, but not so much for the newcomer. 

“It’s a friend’s,” Eiji clarified. 

Shorter sat on his drum stool, shrugging his shoulders. “Bonus points nonetheless.”

“How did you find out about us?” Ash asked, contrasting Shorter’s friendliness with a sharp tone and crossed arms. Eiji glanced up at him, then looked back at the leather bass case as he placed it on the floor.

“The same friend.” He popped the clasp on either end of the case to open it, revealing a glossy, heavily fingerprinted black bass. “And . . . I saw you two during a concert the other night.”

Ash questioningly hummed. Shorter sat up a but straighter.

“I wasn’t thinking about it then, but it’s true that you don’t have a bass player. What’s missing is subtle but there, so if I can help—“

“What did you think of the show?” Shorter asked, ego clearly building itself up by the moment. He grinned, turning to Ash but still addressing Eiji. Ash rolled his eyes.

Ever since they had played their first gig together, there was an unspoken competition between them to see who could get the most crowd interaction. Shorter would do drum solos and, occasionally, hand his drumstick to whichever person in the crowd would take it at the end of the show, and Ash would implement note changes where his range allowed it and add his own solos here and there. The little battle between them actually made for a more enjoyable show.

“It was—” he paused, trying to find the word that encapsulated what he was trying to convey. Yet instead of filling in the blank he left, Eiji smiled to himself. “It’s a feeling.”

Shorter curiously narrowed his eyes at the answer, but Ash found it satisfying. It _was_ a feeling. It was the wave of adrenaline when the lights when down, the way the music pumped through your bloodstream. He felt it the first time he and Griff went to a show together and every time he walked onto a stage. A solid answer.

“We probably shouldn’t keep you waiting.”

At the words, everyone acted. Shorter stood, grabbed his drumsticks, and sat back down, rolling his neck a few times and swinging his arms back and forth to reduce tension in his back. Ash reached for a pick next to all the trash on the coffee table, holding it between his thumb and index finger.

From the corner of his eye, Ash could see Eiji slowly lift the bass out of its case and heft the weight in his hands. The actions like those were the ones that proved his unfamiliarity with the instrument and heightened the uneasiness in Ash’s stomach—if holding it was a task, how would he manage when playing? As he connected it to the spare amplifier, Ash considered the possible outcomes of this audition, or whatever it was:

a.) Eiji would surprise them all by filling the narrow gap between the drums and guitar, prompting Ash and Shorter to invite him into the band without a second thought,

or,

b.) Eiji would perform exactly how Ash expected him to. Ash would be lenient since he sent the tabs last night and Eiji had hardly any time to learn them, but he needed to sense some sort of connection. Music within itself was a feeling, so Ash imagined that he would _feel_ whether Eiji was right for them or not.

Neither was a particularly bad outcome—they were only trying out their first bassist—yet the thought of failing now left a bitter taste in Ash’s mouth. He and Shorter latched together pretty fast, so what was one more?

“You know the song I sent you?” Ash asked, following the question up by singing part of the melody. Eiji attentively nodded, though the motion was unconvincing. “I wrote the bassline so it starts right after the pickup to the chorus, so we’ll play the pre-chorus to give you a few measures before you come in.”

“Alright.” While he spoke, his fingers ran over the frets of the bass as if he was going through the motions in his head. But what he was miming was different from the bassline Ash sent to him. When he looked up and noticed Ash curiously staring, he stopped.

Again, Ash looked at Shorter. Shorter looked at Ash. Instead of commenting, Shorter nodded his head to indicate that he was going to start, then, after a countdown, played the drum pattern at the end of the first verse. 

As they moved into the pre-chorus, Ash played the chords on guitar and lazily sang the lyrics, but his focus was on Eiji. What would he do? 

One moment, Ash was single strumming and mumbling the pick up to the measure on which the chorus started, and the next, the music disintegrated into near shouted vocals on top of an on-tempo drum beat and a hollow, lagging bassline.

Ash slightly turned over his shoulder, the side mouth still a couple of centimeters away from the microphone. He hadn’t ever heard anything quite like what he was hearing before, not even when he and Shorter first started playing together. They sounded inexperienced, like complete novices.

Shorter tried to carry the song, but the bass was hindering it. So much to the point that Ash, who hardly ever faltered due to his experience, fell behind. 

Without the last thing that helped him stitch the song together present, Shorter stopped.

“Sorry,” Eiji immediately offered. “That was my fault—I came in late.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Shorter uttered. He sounded completely sincere—a gift of his that lifted the atmosphere that could have become tense if Ash had spoken or nothing been said at all. With no further questions, as if the music was taking its time to blend together and they just had to wait it out, they played again. And again. And again, until Ash, unable to hear the ruckus again, called for a break. 

“This is what happens when you expect someone to learn a sixteen measure bassline overnight.”

Ash rolled his eyes, unhooking his guitar strap to set the instrument down. “I would have settled for eight. Even four would have been fine.”

“I think he’s just nervous.” Shorter, ever the optimist, scratched his dyed hair as he looked at Eiji over his shoulder. It was a good thing that Shorter was around, since Ash wasn’t one for thinking about the positive outcomes. 

“We don’t have time for nervous.”

“We don’t even have our next gig booked. We have time for anything we want to have time for.”

Frustrated, Ash began to explain, “It’s supposed to click—”

“Nothing clicks in music, you ass.”

At the interjection, Ash opened his mouth to counter, but was silenced by a whack on the arm. Murmuring an expletive to communicate his discontent, Ash followed Shorter’s gaze and looked over his shoulder.

Eiji, the same boy who failed to play the bassline properly every single time, was playing bass. And he was playing it _well_. 

“Turn up the amp,” Shorter called, making Eiji drop his hands and a low E note drifting into the air. Eiji turned around, eyes rapidly blinking, but obeyed. He turned the volume dial on the amplifier. “Now play it again.”

“What is that?” Ash whispered, to which Shorter scoffed.

“Seriously?”

He made his way to his drum kit and played bits of the pattern he had just played over and over. The bass fit snugly in, meshing to create a tight rhythm. On top of it, Shorter muttered the lyrics, and it _worked_. 

Waiting no longer, Ash grabbed his guitar and played along. With nothing to lose, he also sang, and for a couple of bars, it sounded like they were playing a song. By pure chance, the click he was looking for had happened.

When the instruments faded out one by one, there was a moment of stunned silence. Then, Shorter uttered, “You’re in.”

Both Ash and Eiji turned to look at him, then at each other, then at Shorter again. He sounded out of his mind—after all the failed test runs, one decent performance of a segment of a song was enough? That was it?

“Yeah, that’s enough. You can leave if you want. The support position’s yours.”

Shorter wasn’t usually the one to take initiative. He knew how sacred the band was to Ash, how it was the one thing that brought them together after a break in communication that very well could have been permanent. 

Needless to say, Ash was pissed.

He was pissed from the moment Eiji thanked them and unplugged his bass to when Shorter was lifting the garage door and sending him off (not without having a one-sided conversation with the actual owner of the Range Rover). 

When the door hit the ground again, Ash said one thing: “We have a bassist who can’t play bass.”

“Eh.” Shorter shrugged. There was a small grin on his lips, and rather than instinctively grinning back, Ash kept a straight face. “I think he’s alright. You can get pissed right before a gig. Give it a chance; I gave you and your pitchy vocals one. Look where we are now.”

Ash didn’t respond, and he was sure Shorter knew he was already plotting. 

He would teach Eiji bass himself if he had to. At least, he would teach him how to play consistently. If this was going to work, it was going to _work_.

Ash would be damned if there was any other outcome.


	3. three

IT WAS HIS THIRD TIME THERE, but Eiji still didn’t know exactly how to present himself.

Prior to leaving his apartment, he untucked and tucked his sweater twice, eyes on his reflection to see if he looked casual enough. Figuring that it looked too preppy, he took it off and threw a hoodie on top of his undershirt instead. As if that wasn’t enough, since he was running low on his day-to-day contacts, he had been wearing glasses out, but he’d sacrificed a pair for this. 

For two teenagers in a dingy garage.

Now, hoodie off after a last minute decision before walking out the door, he looked between his phone and the garage he stood outside of. He could knock to let them know that he was there, or he could call. It didn’t matter much either way, but he felt a certain pressure to gain the approval of both Ash and Shorter, because he definitely felt that he wasn’t there yet.

It was . . . strange to be inserting himself into space where a bond had already been formed and his presence alone was somewhat imposing on it. Ash and Shorter laughed at each other’s jokes and played like they truly shared the music between them, and every rehearsal was as much of a practice so they could simply play together as it was Eiji trying to find a space between them where he could even slightly fit. They couldn’t play if he was lagging behind, so he did his best to catch up to fit into the band that had been a year in the making.

He didn’t know how long he had, but somehow time seemed to be running out. At least, he knew that he didn’t have forever, so he had to take advantage of every moment.

He lowered his hand that his phone was in and, instead, raised his other to knock. While he waited, he tapped his fingers around the handle of his bass case, the case that he had been carrying around like a third limb as he spent more time learning and perfecting the instrument. A part of it, and a rather large one at that, was adjusting to the weight of it, so, even when he had no plans to play, he kept the case by his side. 

After a few moments, the door lifted with more difficulty than usual, and without the barrier between the outdoors and their rehearsal space, Eiji was mere inches away pale skin and green eyes. For a moment, he just stared (how could he not? Even when Ash wasn’t playing, he was mesmerizing), but his eyes eventually wandered to the space behind him. Particularly, the lack of the presence of the boy who greeted him every time he stopped by.

“Shorter’s busy,” Ash uttered, understanding what Eiji’s wandering eyes meant without the exchanging of any words. “But I figured that it was still useful for you and I to practice. Unless—“

“No. It’s okay.”

If he was being honest, he was terrified to rehearse with Ash alone. After he had introduced his own basslines to him and Shorter, the rhythm section began to work rather well as a unit. Not to mention that Shorter had a much friendlier aura to him that made communication easier, whereas Eiji hadn’t even figured out where to begin with getting through to Ash. 

Eiji headed into the garage, fingers still tapping against the handle of his bass case. As the door shut behind him, he let out a deep breath. Did they need to have a rehearsal with just the two of them? 

A moment after the thought crossed his mind, the answer became clear enough.

Ash and Shorter worked well together, and the rhythm section was becoming solid. Ash and Eiji continuing to function alone could be the one thing that broke the band as it was.

As Eiji bent down on the side of the garage and pulled out his bass, Ash lowered the door and took a place on the other side of the space. The distance between them was plentiful, making the situation even more painfully awkward than it needed to be.

Eiji needed to start talking, and quick. 

“You play?” Eiji asked, pointing to the bass that had been in the corner of the makeshift studio during every one of his visits. He had noticed it a few times—particularly noticed how it remained perfectly propped up on that stand during every one of his visits. For Ash, whose guitar seemed to be traveling on its own—leaning against the amplifier or lying on the couch or hanging from its strap—it was both uncharacteristic and extremely curious for the bass to be so well kept. 

Rather than immediately answering, Ash picked it up and sat down on the couch, situating the instrument on his hip. Unlike Ash’s electric guitar, this one seemed to have lost its luster—presumably from old age. Clearly, an effort hadn’t been made to polish it to get it back to a presentable state. 

“Passably. My brother taught me,” Ash muttered, hooking the bass to the amplifier his guitar was previously plugged into. He swiped a pick off of the coffee table and held it between his index finger and thumb. “But unfortunately, I can’t play two instruments at one time.”

He turned the instrument’s volume knob and played a recognizable rhythm, murmuring the lyrics to “Crazy Little Thing Called Love” as his fingers moved from fret to fret.

Eiji watched as he did it so skillfully, the note changes so confident and clean. Hell, did they really need a bassist? Ash wasn’t as well versed in bass as he was in guitar, but it was indeed passable. Pretty damn convincing, actually.

“Why do you need a bassist?”

Ash peered at him, still playing the bassline, then bit down on his lips. His fingers halted, the deep, rhythmic sound that filled the garage no longer coming from the amplifier.

He shrugged. “Shorter and I started this band for kicks. Now, we’ve both skipped out on our first year of college for it, and by the looks of it, he’s not going next year. I don’t plan to either. If we want to make a living off of this, we need to go all the way. We can’t keep not having a complete sound because we can manage to pick up a supporter or two with it. It works, but it’s not perfect, so we figured it was worth a try.”

Eiji lowly hummed to himself. He could understand Ash’s perspective, but he could also tell that he didn’t exactly seem content with it. Actually, from the moment he first played with them, it was more than obvious that Ash was skeptical, and Eiji didn’t blame him. 

It went without saying that he didn’t give the most solid first impression, and the knowledge that they were trying to make a career out of the group they had going only made Ash’s doubt more reasonable. When it came to a means of living, there was no waiting for someone to catch up. Especially not in an industry as fast-paced and ever changing as this one

“A question for a question?”

Eiji refocused at Ash’s words, slowly nodding. The gesture served as a silent invitation to ask whatever was on his mind.

“You changed my bassline. Why?”

There was no trace of arrogance in his voice; he actually wanted to know. In his jade eyes, he had the light of pure curiosity. He wasn’t a bass player by nature, but he had the crucial quality of awareness that would make him comparable to any skilled one.

Eiji answered honestly: “I was in a time crunch and it was too hard to play.”

No matter how much Eiji ran over the notes, the rhythmic and theoretical aspects weren’t making sense. He, too, had enough awareness to know that if he didn’t give a solid attempt to write his own bassline, he wouldn’t have gotten the support position.

Ash hummed in response, deciding not to question it. However, hearing the sound and seeing the inquiry written all over Ash’s face, Eiji explained.

“You wrote it to follow the drums, right? You made it distinctive enough to have its own identity, but the bassline fit right in with the other half of the rhythm section, fills included. But rather than meshing, it clashed. You probably thought it was just Shorter and I not knowing how to play together yet, but it also sounded off when I played along to one of your live recordings.”

And Eiji played relentlessly. Until the clock struck two, he sat with his headphones plugged in and listened to the bassline. 

“I wrote one that echoed the melody instead, and it sounded less cluttered.”

Even then, Eiji wasn’t planning on unveiling his own bassline. The determination within him made him want to get the one he spent hours perfecting right, but after multiple failed attempts, he was left with no other choice. He just happened to be caught practicing the last resort while Ash and Shorter were undoubtedly off discussing how terrible he was.

“You’re good.” Ash’s lips turned up into a small smile, fingers lightly tapping against the body of his bass. “You’re a real musician, aren’t you?”

“I played clarinet in high school, and I sometimes play for my school’s band now. That’s as much of a musician as I am.”

When Ash’s smile grew wider, Eiji was reminded of why he never disclosed that fact. Then Ash’s grin turned into a chuckle, and Eiji found himself getting slightly defensive. Clarinet wasn’t necessarily a conventional instrument in modern music, but it was important in a band setting. Typically overlooked, but noticed when gone.

Just like the bass.

“No,” Ash laughed, though he was clearly trying not to. “It just really fits. I can see that.”

Slowly, the laugh returned to a smile, and a fond one at that. Eiji felt somewhat warm seeing those pink lips turned up and those eyes soft, soft enough for his cheeks to flush a light and hopefully unnoticeable shade of red.

“Actually . . . it taught me a lot about music. A setting like that is about balance and blend, and there was a lot of music theory that came with it. I hardly use it now, but it was good to learn.”

Ash drew his eyebrows together. “You don’t use it? You didn’t use theory when you wrote the bassline?”

Eiji shrugged. “Not entirely. There were theoretical aspects—there always are—but for the most part, I just played whatever came to mind.” 

Ash sat up a little straighter, eyes narrowing. His expression was purely analytical, that intensity that Eiji had momentarily broken through returning in his eyes, his jaw, his mouth.

And in a moment, it was gone.

Ash stood and returned the bass to its stand, swapping it for his guitar. Instead of returning to his seat, he sat on the floor and propped his guitar up in his lap. Looking over his shoulder, he gestured Eiji over with a beckoning motion.

And softly, somewhat intimately, he said the words that shattered all of the tension between them: “Just play with me.”

Eiji blinked back at him. With a tightened heart, he grabbed his bass and sat with his back to Ash’s, shifting the instrument on his hips until its position was comfortable enough. Through the fabric of their tees, Eiji could feel the warmth of Ash’s skin.

His heart beat a little faster.

As if seeking a confirmation to his question, Ash strummed a chord on his guitar, that single chord transforming into a progression. Eiji looked down at the strings and the frets while he listened, then slowly lifted his hand.

Sitting there together, they played alone until they played as one, played until the ice was broken, and played until it hardly felt like playing anymore. They were communicating, speaking through notes and chords—

And they could finally understand one another.


	4. end.

CONCERT DAYS WERE HECTIC.

Ash wasn’t big into philosophy. He wasn’t big into any science, actually, seeing as literature had always been his forté. But even after skipping more days of high school than allowed, he was familiar with one adage: anything that can go wrong, will go wrong. The phrase seemed to apply best on the days where they journeyed across town to play gigs, and this day in particular was certainly a fine example. 

As they loaded their equipment, Shorter carrying out individual parts of the drum kit he struggled to disassemble, Eiji stared at the white van with his eyes squinted in an effort to block out the sun as best as he could. When Ash silently stood next to him, he uttered, “There’s two seats.”

Ash blinked. 

Indeed, there were two seats.

It was somewhat astonishing that they had managed to go until then without realizing that all of them couldn’t fit into the designated gig van, but they had all been trying to push the thought of the concert to the back of their minds. Rehearsals served as a cleanup period for making their songs sound more unified and, for Ash and Shorter, adjusting to an added instrument in the mix, so even though Shorter had booked something at a lounge an hour or so out, they had other things to focus on. 

Quite honestly, no one thought about how close the gig was until Eiji had an epiphany the day before and it finally sank in for the other two.

Now, they were facing the consequences of their ignorance. 

“It’s fine,” Eiji uttered, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “I can get a ride to the venue—“

“You live half an hour out and we have to be at the venue in two hours. There’s not enough time.”

Maybe this was what Ash got for not obsessing over a show for once. 

Hands stuffed into his jeans, he walked over to Shorter. The latter paused his attempt to grab the bass drum in an easy and sturdy way and looked up, though his eyes were shielded by sunglasses. 

Slightly embarrassed at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation, Ash looked at one of the old posters advertising an unknown rock band on the wall as he spoke, “There’s two seats in the van and three of us.”

“Well, shit.”

Shorter stood and crossed his arms, seemingly thinking about a solution. After a moment of thought, he shrugged, crouched back down, and focused on hefting the drum up again. “You and Eiji take the van. Nadia’s free, so I’ll have her take me or something.”

Ash was completely unconvinced. “Or something? Are you sure she’s not with her girlfriend? We can’t play without a drummer, Shorter—”

“I know that.” Kick drum between his hands, Shorter stood, reaching a few inches above Ash. “You worry about getting yourself and Eiji there, and I’ll worry about getting myself there. Oh, and thank me later.”

When Shorter threw a wink over his shoulder as he made his way to the van, Ash knew exactly what he meant with his words. And he hated it.

Yes, he had been spending more time with Eiji. Honestly, that may have been why they were able to progress as a unit at the rate they did—without those walls built up, they could all see eye to eye. So even after the ice was broken and things between them were alright, Ash worked with Eiji to get past there. The effort seemed to have gone fine, for they could hold a proper conversation now. The air felt far less tense when they were around each other. They laughed together. 

And Ash had gotten a decent grip on Eiji’s emotions. Decent enough to see that something was glaringly wrong when he turned around and saw his usually tanned skin appear to be a shade paler and his eyes a bit wider than usual.

“What’s wrong?” Ash asked after walking over. 

Eiji tucked his phone into his pocket and took in a long breath before exhaling: “I don’t have a bass.”

Only on a show day.

“You _what_?”

“I took it to get a minor repair last night. The shop just called and said that they won’t have it done for another two hours.”

Ash weighed the words. He wasn’t one to panic, but he was feeling really fucking cornered. Out of fairness to all of the time he put in, they couldn’t not have Eiji play, but he physically lacked the ability without an instrument. So two hours before they went onstage, during the time that he usually spent hyping himself up to perform for a crowd, Ash had to think of a solution. 

Except the one he was thinking of was the last thing that he wanted to resort to.

“I tried everything, but they said there was nothing they could do to speed up the pickup time. I could find a way to rent one—”

Ash walked back into the garage, and behind him, Eiji’s voice quieted before fading completely. There was a knot in Ash’s stomach, one that tightened when he lifted the worn bass that sat on a stand in the corner of the garage and reached for the case beside it. 

Never had he taken the bass out of the garage. A part of it was to preserve the liveliness that the bass had—the image of Griff sitting there and playing one of the songs he knew like the back of his hand and managing to stun Ash and Shorter in the process was still so vivid in that space. The other half was fear; there was a possibility that if he took the bass out, it would return blemished or without its magic.

Nonetheless, he laid the guitar in the slot made of plush cushion, flipped the lid of the case shut, and grabbed the handle. Heart in his throat, he walked towards Eiji and held it out towards him. “Here.”

Two pairs of eyes burned into him. Shorter was first to look away, muttering something inaudible as he did. Eiji, moving from the position he was practically frozen in, lifted his hand and grabbed the case’s handle, fingers brushing against Ash’s as he did.

As Eiji loaded it into the back of the van, Shorter patted Ash on the shoulder. No words were necessary to convey what was on his mind. 

With his other hand, Shorter held out the keys to the van. Ash took them with a small smile, twirling the chain on his index finger. Walking backwards towards the driver’s side, Ash pointed a finger at his friend. “Don’t be late.”

“Worry about you!” 

When he passed Eiji at the back of the van, he lightly brushed his arm. At the touch, Eiji looked up, hands still on the handles of the closed double doors. Ash lifted the keys. “It’s you and me.”

Eiji smiled.

* * *

Ash was only slightly nervous.

He got much better at managing the emptiness in his stomach after realizing that, the ground hadn’t opened up and swallowed him whole after multiple performances and likely wouldn’t ever do so. It felt damn good being up on stage, too, and understanding that before getting up there and instantaneously feeling that indescribable rush of adrenaline was so much better than wasting time worrying about the could be’s and maybe’s.

But he worried. Not about himself, but about the bassist who drummed his fingers against his thighs and bit the inside of his cheek.

In the car, the air was quiet. Music came from the speakers at a volume significantly lower than usual, and Eiji spent most of the ride staring out of the window with his chin in his hand. Seeing how tranquil he looked, Ash contemplated not saying anything at all, but he also knew that there was an infinite number of thoughts that could have been running through the mind of the boy by his side. Saying something was better than staying silent.

“Nervous?”

Eiji averted his eyes to him. “Naturally.”

Eyes on the road and right hand on the steering wheel, Ash thoughtfully tapped his lips. With Shorter not around, his everlasting optimism couldn’t lift anyone up. It was up to Ash, really, to say something decently encouraging. He couldn’t flush out the anxiety, but he could at least dampen it.

“What if I told you that you had nothing to be nervous about?” Ash looked at Eiji in the driver’s mirror, noted the way that he rolled his eyes a little as his lips turned up. A clear dismissal of the question phrased to somewhat sound like a compliment, which Ash didn’t dish out often. “You know your music. You’re a fucking insane bassist when it comes to what you created. I can tell it just flows through you, so let it happen. You’re not playing _for_ anyone, Eiji. You’re playing _with_ us. With me.”

After that, Ash felt Eiji looking at him as though he was trying to find something hidden on his face, then looking away. As he turned back towards the window, he chuckled.

But an hour or so later, Eiji didn’t look so reassured. Setting up couldn’t halt because of that—they only had so long—but as he assembled the drum set that Shorter wasn’t around to put together, Ash still found himself wanting to say or do something more to ease the nausea that was surely working its way into Eiji’s system. 

When Shorter did arrive, dyed hair mussed, and swap his tee for a muscle top, Ash handed off the duty with a friendly teasing. As he got himself ready, mumbling vocal warmups and double-knotting his Converse (a safety measure that proved to be necessary), he kept an eye on Eiji and waited for the right time to speak. 

The time came when Eiji walked past after setting Griff’s bass down onstage. 

Five minutes until show.

“Hey,” Ash whispered, hand wrapped around Eiji’s wrist. “You’ll be fine.”

Instead of a proper response, Eiji looked at him with those wide, dark eyes. The most indication that he actually processed the words was given in the form of a nod of his head. 

As usual, Shorter leaped up and down, building up a decent supply of adrenaline in his system. If questioned, he always said he needed it beforehand or the beginning of the performance would be shaky. Ash never questioned his methods—however unconventional or useless they may have seemed to him, they worked for the drummer.

Twirling a drumstick between his fingers, Shorter rolled his neck and exhaled. With a whisper of ‘alright,’ he walked out into view of the audience, however small or large it would be this time, and single-handedly started the performance.

The pounding of drums filled Ash’s ears moments later. Eiji stood by his side, lights reflecting in the dark of his eyes. Ash forced himself to look away and focus on the here and the now, on listening to the measures of music so he didn’t miss his cue.

And when it came, he walked out onto the small stage with Eiji trailing behind him, donned his guitar, and hoped for the best.

There was always a split second when Ash stepped onto a stage where he didn’t feel anything. The light was blinding—even the lights from the shitty systems most bars used, and the crowd was utterly still. His heart still thumped, but that was all he could hear.

Then his senses were overwhelmed. 

He could make out the curvatures of some of the bodies in the crowd, could hear the drums already ten beats ahead of where they previously were, could _feel_ Shorter playing behind him. But now, there was another sensation, another source of energy. When he played amd sang, there was an echo.

How could he have ever thought that another member would disrupt the bond between him and Shorter?

Perhaps he was right, and Eiji was merely a rare case where that didn’t happen. Standing there, he felt somewhat elevated, the lyrics falling from his mouth forming effortlessly and sounding more . . . authentic, in a way. He wasn’t just singing because he could or because it was the only option anymore, but because it felt right. As right as it felt to have Shorter and Eiji playing with him.

From the performer’s perspective, especially when the crowd doesn’t know your name, there’s always a noticeable shift in the atmosphere some time into the show. After they’d played enough to prove themselves, the one-sided show became a shared experience; even though the crowd didn’t know a word from their songs, even though they all could forget the band’s obscure name by morning, they were immersed in it.

And that, singing lyrics that he wrote on the floor of a garage while people listened, pausing his vocalization to play at the edge of the cramped stage and be looked up at with curious eyes, turning around to see Shorter’s completely absorbed in the crash of the cymbals and crack of the snare . . . that was why Ash loved music. That was why he played after enduring such a hard-hitting loss all those months ago. 

When a break in the vocals came, Ash walked to the opposite side of the stage, hands focused on drumming and forming chords but eyes on Eiji. He was moving along with the music, eyes on the four strings he plucked and a small smile on his lips. Eiji, who Ash had doubted all along, played like every single one of his nerves had been washed away. And when he looked up at Ash and rocked side to side while he played with him, his lips turned up. He laughed, as if he was consumed by pure joy and exhilaration. 

Even if Eiji wanted to say anything, Ash wouldn’t be able to hear over the music they were making. But words weren’t necessary—Ash knew exactly what Eiji felt because he’d felt it too once. The moment of discovery where he realized that being up on stage was the best gift imaginable was a significant one, and he couldn’t have missed that look of epiphany on Eiji’s face if he tried.

Eiji loved this. If Ash wasn’t mistaken, he glowed as if he wanted to do it over and over and over again. 

The show had only just begun, but seeing how Eiji had evolved, Ash already felt damn proud.

* * *

Even though the performance ended half an hour ago, but Ash still felt an urgency to do it all again. He still felt _alive_ , like he was on fire. If he so chose, he was sure he had enough leftover adrenaline to run all the way home.

He shut the doors to the van and moved to the driver’s side, leaning up against the paneling instead of getting in. Looking up at the dark sky, he could have sworn he heard something. Perhaps it was the reassurance that he would be okay, that _this_ would be okay—

Or maybe it was all in his head.

What he didn’t expect to hear was the sound of gravel beneath feet growing increasingly louder. When looked over his shoulder and saw Eiji slowly approaching with his hands stuffed in his pockets, he slid over and made room for him to stand by his side.

“Hey.”

Surprisingly not tired of it after moving through an entire set with his lips turned up, Eiji grinned. “Hi.”

“You did well.” He was going to leave it at that, but he couldn’t shake the feeling of being up there with _him_. It would have been a shame for him to downplay it. It was momentous. Extraordinary. Mesmerizingly breathtaking. “If I asked you to play with us again, would you?”

Eiji turned his head towards him. From his peripherals, Ash could see his eyebrows drawing together.

“The bass you played tonight was my brother’s. He used to talk about how music was all about connections and a ton of other shit I’ll never understand. Out of everything, I get one that thing, and that’s why I want to play with you again. We’re connected now, and—“

_I don’t want to let go._

As soon as the words left his mouth, he found himself wanting to shove them back in. He wasn’t one for intimate moments, but no other words could describe the magnetism between them then. No other word could describe how it felt to look at Eiji and somehow be sharing his thoughts but completely unsure of what he was thinking at the same time.

“If you’ll let me, I will.”

He wasn’t just referring to the band.

Ash expectantly replied, “I’m letting you.”

And, with permission given, Eiji kissed him. It was warm and earth-shattering and God, Ash was having his first kiss shrouded behind a white van in the parking lot of a dingy bar, but he didn’t want it any other way.

“You’re so much different than I thought,” Eiji commented after pulling away and coming down from the tips of his toes. Without another word, he circled around the van and opened the door to the passenger’s side. Ash was unsure of what he meant and didn’t want him to leave his side, but he knew that he wasn’t going far. 

They were two strings intertwined—wherever one went, the other would follow.

**Author's Note:**

> come talk to me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/softaslans)!
> 
> huge thank you to the [artist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lasenby_Heathcote/pseuds/Lasenby_Heathcote) i got to work with to make this project possible! please show them overwhelming love.


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